Paint
by Berkwood Court
Summary: Red John has been dead for a few weeks, and Jane is finally starting to move on. What happens when he asks Lisbon to help him paint a room? Review! **STORY IS COMPLETE.**
1. Wake Up Call

**Author's Note:** I'm back! God, writer's block sucks. I'm seriously trying to write a complete story, but I keep skipping around and starting new ones. Really, I have about 4 half-finished stories right now. Anyway, I hope you like this… It's set in a Red John-free universe (as in, he's been dead about 2, maybe 3 weeks now), so Jane is trying to deal with it all.

Lisbon's POV. Enjoy!

**Paint**

Usually, when someone was knocking on her door this early, it was Patrick Jane. This time was no exception. Groaning, she unlocked the door to let him in.

"What do you want, Jane?" Lisbon asked sleepily. Her vision was blurry and she felt a little light headed. After all, she had been asleep, finally asleep, for the first time in weeks.

"Lisbon, ah, sorry…" Jane shifted his weight, "Didn't know you were asleep. Sorry to bother you. I'll just…" He turned to leave. "Sorry."

"Jane." She reached out and touched his shoulder. "Come in?" He turned around and smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. Something was wrong. He followed her into the apartment and sat on her couch, staring blankly at the floor.

"I'll make you some tea," Lisbon walked quickly to her kitchen. He visited her often, so she always seemed to have his favorite brand of tea in her pantry. It was second nature to her now; she barely had to think about it. This gave her time to wonder idly about the reason Jane was sitting on her couch at three o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday. They had work tomorrow, for crying out loud!

_Later, not tomorrow_, she corrected herself mentally, dropping a dripping tea bag into her trash. She carried the warm mug into the living room, sitting next to him.

"Thank you," he murmured when she handed it to him. He didn't drink it, though. He just stared at it.

"Jane…" Lisbon trailed off. "Why are you here?"

"Because you invited me in," he replied, no sarcasm in his tone. The teasing wasn't the same these days. It was empty. He didn't bother arguing with her anymore, either.

It scared her.

"Patrick." He looked up at the use of his first name. "You know what I mean." He sighed and set his tea down on the small table next to the couch.

"He's gone, Lisbon," his voice was hoarse. "We got him. He can't hurt anyone else. He's gone."

"I know," Lisbon was confused now. "I was there." He nodded, his breathing becoming uneven. That night flashed through her mind before she could stop it.

…

There was a knife against her throat, the man holding it was whispering threats into her ear. There was a gag over her mouth, muffling her pleas and screams. She couldn't see.

"Oh, my dear Teresa…" his voice made her stomach churn. It was like nails on a chalk board to her. "You don't know how long I've waited for this moment. When Patrick gets here, he will be just in time to see you die. I'll slice your throat and make him watch as you bleed. Then, as he tries to save you, I'll shoot him. Not a fatal shot, but enough to render him immobile while I cut his fingers of, one by one…"

Lisbon was trying to ignore his words, but he was pulling her hair and speaking directly into her ear, switching sides every now and then. It gave the illusion that he was everywhere. She tried to scream again, and Red John pressed the knife harder against her throat, drawing blood. She began to feel nauseous.

There was a bang above her head, and she wondered idly if they were in a basement. How cliché. She had been knocked unconscious in her home, and when she woke up she was here. Wherever here was.

"_LISBON!"_ Jane's voice was loud, but sounded far away. She fought hard to stay awake, but it seemed to be getting darker. Something warm was trickling down her chest, but she no longer felt pain. There was a series of what sounded like steps, and she felt herself slipping away against her will.

Suddenly, there was light. She could see. Jane was at the bottom of a set of wooden stairs, completely pale, frozen in place. Her eyes automatically searched for her attacker, but she couldn't move. She could only stare at Jane and the area he was standing in.

"Ah, Mr. Jane," Red Johns voice came from behind her. Was he still holding the knife? "So nice of you to join us. I was just explaining to Teresa, here, what I was planning for you!" He pulled her hair again, and she whimpered.

Jane stood completely still, his expression a strange mixture of horror, realization, worry, and anger. He seemed to be trying to speak.

Red John laughed in her ear, and she fought the urge to vomit. She was losing a lot of blood, and the world was turning fuzzy. If she could move, she would elbow him in the stomach, turn around and tackle him to the floor, and knock him unconscious. If only she could move…

"Dear Teresa doesn't seem to have much time left!" Red John cackled gleefully.

"I- Let her- Please-" Jane found his voice, but couldn't seem to form words very well.

"Let her go? Oh, no, Patrick, where's the fun in that?" Lisbon felt more pressure on one of her wrists.

"Stop, please!" Jane shouted. "Don't- don't-" It looked like he was shaking now, but maybe it was just her.

Everything was getting darker. She fought to keep her eyes open, but her eyelids seemed to be getting heavier. Finally she gave in, her eyes closed. She felt her body go limp…

There was a loud noise and Lisbon fell to the floor, unable to support herself. Using all of her willpower, she opened her eyes a crack and saw none other than Grace Van Pelt, her gun still pointed at a spot above her head. She blinked slowly, and it was harder to open her eyes again. Jane was hugging Van Pelt and shaking. She felt a pang in her heart and let her eyes slip shut again.

…

"Lisbon?" Jane was staring at her. "Are you okay?" She cleared her throat and blinked, happy to realize she wasn't there anymore. She was home, alive, and with Jane.

"Y-yeah," her voice wavered. "I'm fine. Never better. But are _you_ okay? I mean, you weren't the one who pulled the trigger…"

"I don't care about that," he said forcefully. "I care that he's gone. I care that you're alive. I don't care that it wasn't me who killed him, but he's dead. That's all that matters."

"Then why are you here?" Lisbon asked again, hoping for an actual answer this time.

"I don't know. I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd check on you," he said hesitantly, "but you seem to be doing fine."

She nodded.

"Yeah, I am." Jane picked up his tea. It had to be cold by now. "Sorry about zoning out…"

"No worries," Jane smiled. "Thank you for the tea. I, ah, I should get going."

"Oh," Lisbon's voice went up an octave. "Okay. Um, sure. Here, I'll take that." She took the mug from his hands and their fingers brushed against each other. She blushed.

"Lisbon?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you… For letting me interrupt your sleep." He grinned at her, this time it was genuine.

"No problem," she smiled back, walking to the kitchen to dump out the left over tea. She rinsed the mug and set it upside down in her otherwise empty sink.

He was still in her living room when she came back.

"Lisbon," he began, "will you help me with something?" _Oh, no. This had better not be one of his stupid stunts that could cost me my job,_ she thought.

"That depends. What is it?" He took a deep breath before speaking.

"I… Will you help me paint a room?" He asked, looking down at the floor. Paint a room. Paint a room? What was he talki- _oh._

"Patrick," Lisbon was about to try to talk him out of it, but… Her voice softened. "Of course. When?"

"Whenever, now, later," He seemed shocked that she'd agreed. "I already have the paint, I just… Can't do it alone." She smiled again. He'd chosen her to help him paint over the Smiley in the room where he'd found his wife and daughter dead. Killed by Red John, like she almost was.

"Let me change. I don't think I'll be sleeping much more tonight, anyway," Lisbon said before she rushed to her bedroom.

…

**Author's Note:** Well..? Should I continue it, or leave it a one-shot? I have an idea of what could happen if I continue, but I don't know if that would be overkill. Let me know? :)


	2. WalMart Run

**Author's Note:** A HUGE thank you for **Aania71** for being my first reviewer, and to **Little-Firestar84, xXxStarGazerxXx, LAurore, Babi Baker, Sonseeahray, All The Best People Are Mad, Guest, ninaferrero, wimmer511, MissDonnie, Misfit 1-3,** **Leah, **and** Sweetylove30 **for the reviews and support! Also, I'd extremely grateful for **Your-Bespoke-Psychopath** and **Lothlorien Aeterna**'s advice and input. THANK YOU!

Hopefully this chapter is satisfactory. :) This is sort of a filler chapter, I think. It's rather long though. They'll be at his house in Chapter 3.

Jane's POV. Enjoy!

…

He was in shock. He hadn't exactly meant to end up at Lisbon's door, it just sort of… happened. Now they were in his car (she actually agreed to let him drive!) on their way to his house. The biggest surprise, however, was why they were going there. He was finally going to re-paint Their Room. Apparently.

And Lisbon had agreed to help him. He was bewildered. Why had he gone out in the first place?

Ah, yes. He was still haunted by the images of Lisbon bleeding on the floor of a basement, Red John's dead body at an odd angle next to her, Grace holding the smoking gun. He didn't want to be alone, or he'd lose it. He'd breakdown, for real this time, but he didn't want that. He had to stay strong.

"So, what color are we painting the room?" Lisbon asked, a lame attempt at filling the silence. Jane decided to play along. It was either discuss paint colors or talk about what happened in the basement.

"I don't know, I hadn't really thought about it. Maybe a pure white?" He didn't know why he was asking for her approval, but he was.

"Wait, you mean you don't have any paint yet?" Lisbon sounded a bit too amused.

"No, it was sort of a spur-of-the-moment decision."

"Oh," Lisbon hesitated. "Shouldn't we stop at Lowes or something, then?"

"Good idea," Jane said, passing his usual exit. He decided to tease her a little. "I knew you were good for something!" He got the reaction he was looking for: she snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Unlike you," Lisbon threw back.

"What, I don't even 'close cases' anymore?" Jane was genuinely curious, but kept his tone light.

"Well…" she trailed off, savoring his look of disbelief. "I'm kidding, Jane. You do close cases, but that's about it."

"Hey! I make you laugh and you know it."

"I suppose," she laughed again. Jane flicked his right blinker on and pulled into a parking lot. Lowes was closed. It didn't surprise him, the hour was ungodly. He would be sleeping, too, if not for the nightmares.

"Where to now?" He asked. Lisbon thought for a moment.

"I think Wal*Mart is open 24 hours. They sell paint, right?"

"Probably. Wal*Mart has everything," Jane said with a chuckle. He pulled out of the parking lot and drove in the opposite direction.

They sat in silence, enjoying each other's company. Well, he was enjoying hers, anyway. He glanced over at Lisbon to find her struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Lisbon," Jane said softly. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I can take you back home, if you'd like."

"Hmm?" Lisbon blinked rapidly. "What? No, it's fine. I want to help. Besides, I've been able to function correctly on half this amount of sleep on several occasions." Jane swallowed back a grin.

"If you say so," he said lightly. She rolled her eyes at him again. This time, he did grin.

After a few more minutes of silence, Jane spotted a Wal*Mart sign, and turned into the lot. It was basically empty, except for a few scattered cars which he assumed belonged to the poor souls who worked the graveyard shift.

They exited the car and crossed the mini-street.

"In through the 'In' door, out through the 'Out' door," Lisbon muttered.

"Pardon?" Lisbon blushed a bit.

"Sorry, I just hate it when people use the wrong door. They're clearly marked to help with the flow of people, but almost everyone ignores it. It bugs me, that's all," Lisbon said quietly. Jane nodded amusedly. His wife was the same way; she had drilled it into his brain, so he almost didn't notice it anymore. It was second nature for him to obey the exit and entrance signs.

"Paint," Jane stated. "If I were paint, where would I be?" He scanned the ceiling for the correct sign.

"Eureka," Lisbon pointed forward. "That way."

Sure enough, about 30 feet away there was a rainbow of color samples that covered an end cap. He hurried forward and chose the deepest shade of purple from the display.

"Wow," he shook his head. "Why on earth would someone want to paint a room _this_ color? It's so… Purple!" Lisbon laughed to his left.

"To each their own," she said. "You said you wanted white, right?" Her eyes scanned the seemingly endless amount of color.

He nodded, examining the selection. Eggshell White, China White, Cloud White, Cotton White… They all looked about the same to him. What was the point of that?

"Maybe white is too, well, white," he told Lisbon. "Any suggestions?" She didn't seem to hear him because she didn't look up. He was about to repeat himself when she pulled one of the samples out of its slot.

"What do you think of this?" she asked. The card was honey colored, it seemed perfect for the room.

"I like it," Jane said. "Hold on to it while I find some other… _necessities_. Do you want a brush or a roller?" He was already walking down the next aisle, looking for a tarp to cover the floor with.

"Um, I think I'll use a roller," Lisbon called. "See if they have one of the really long ones?" He smirked. She would be too short to reach the top of the walls without the extended handle.

"As you wish," he murmured. A minute or so later, he returned with two paint rollers, a handle extension, a tray, a tarp, a brush, and a roll of painter's tape. Amazingly, he was able to carry it all without dropping anything. Lisbon laughed when he rounded the corner. The two rollers were facing opposite directions in the tray, the extension balanced on top of them. The brush was poking out from under his arm, above the tarp. The painter's tape was on top of the extension, and Jane seemed proud of his system.

"Do you want me to carry anything?" Lisbon was still laughing. He shook his head.

"Where are we supposed to get the actual paint?" Jane looked at her expectantly. She looked around in vain. There was no clerk in sight.

"Stay here, I'll go find someone," Lisbon sighed before walking away. Jane rolled his eyes and walked behind her anyway. When has he ever followed directions? He stayed silent for a while before deciding to announce his presence.

"It's kind of creepy how empty the store is," Jane commented. Lisbon jumped slightly and whirled around.

"Jane! I thought I told you to stay put?"

"Lisbon, this is me you're talking to," Jane snorted.

"Right," she rolled her eyes and continued searching. They passed the toy section at the back of the store, and Jane resisted the urge to ask her if he could ride a bike or something. He knew it would just frustrate her, so he didn't. Plus he was still carrying an armful of supplies.

They were passing the boy's clothing department when Lisbon spotted a woman in the Wal*Mart employee uniform.

"Excuse me," Lisbon called. The woman looked up and smiled.

"Hi, how can I help you?" she asked. Her name tag said her name was Molly.

"Who do we need to speak with about getting a gallon of paint?" Lisbon asked.

"I can help you with that," Molly said brightly. "Do you know what color you'd like?"

"Yes," Lisbon handed her the sample they'd decided on.

"Ah, excellent choice," Molly complimented. "Not too bright, not too bland. I like it! Follow me, please." She led them back to the paint display and started the paint-making process. Jane looked around absentmindedly.

The white lights were almost obnoxiously bright this late, he decided. Paired with the shiny white tile floor, the store seemed blinding. And eerily quiet.

"So," Molly leaned across the counter and rested her chin in her hands, "what brings you here at this hour?"

"Spontaneous decision to redecorate," Jane answered. He set the utensils he'd chosen on the opposite of the counter, freeing his hands. He admired the paint sample display again. "Tell me, would you paint a room this color?" He gestured to the deep purple from before. Lisbon rolled her eyes.

"Personally, no, I wouldn't paint a _whole room_ that color," Molly stated cheerfully. "However, it would make a nice accent color." Jane smiled. Maybe he should talk to Lisbon about painting a wall a different color.

"I see."

"So, just the one gallon of paint?" Molly asked. Jane nodded. "Will it be enough for the room? I assume it's a room you're painting, anyway."

"I hope so, and yes it's a room. It's a relatively small room, though," he informed her. "It's in desperate need of a new paint job."

"And you're going to do that… at three in the morning?"

"I don't understand it either," Lisbon interjected. "He showed up on my doorstep and asked me to help him paint his room. I'll never understand him."

"Oh contraire, my dear. You understand me better than almo- I mean, anyone alive." He was going to say _almost anyone,_ meaning Red John, but bit his tongue just in time.

"I find that hard to believe," Lisbon said, but her tone told him otherwise. She seemed… flattered, almost? Interesting.

"Oh, look at that. Your paint is done," Molly removed the large can from a machine and dipped her middle finger into it, dabbing the drop of paint onto a label. "Is this the right color?"

"Yes, it is," Jane gathered the painting supplies again as Lisbon took the paint itself from Molly.

"Have a wonderful night you guys," Molly called after them. "Don't have _too _much fun!"

"We'll try," Jane laughed.

"So," Lisbon led the way to the checkout area, "is that all we need?"

"I believe so. Let me run through my mental check list," _Paint, tape, brush, rollers, tray, tarp…_ "I think we should be good."

"Alright, let's find an open register." They scanned the front of the store, finally finding a number that was lit up.

"Number 13 is open," Jane informed her. "After you."

"Did you find everything alright?" A man asked. He looked exhausted, Jane noticed. His name was Daniel, according to the crooked nametag on his shirt.

"Yes, we did," Jane informed him brightly. "Could you double bag the paint?"

"Sure thing," Daniel scanned the paint and put in one bag first before dislodging it from the arms and shoving it unceremoniously into a second plastic bag.

"Thank you," Jane said, removing the paint from the bagging area and handing it back to Lisbon. Daniel continued scanning and bagging their materials.

"Your total is $91.64. Will that be cash or credit?" Jane checked the number that flashed on the mini screen above the register before pulling out his wallet.

"Cash, please," he said, producing a $100 bill and handing it to Daniel.

"Your change is $8.36, thank you for shopping at Wal*Mart," the man said, handing Jane his change and the receipt.

"Get some sleep, Daniel," Jane told him. He nodded and smiled weakly.

"Come along, Lisbon. Where did we park?" He continued walking toward the exit without waiting for an answer. His baby blue Citroen was still one of the few cars in the lot, easy to spot. He unlocked it manually and opened the trunk. Lisbon set the paint in an empty spot and he followed suit with the other two bags. After closing the trunk, he made his way to the driver's seat.

"So, Lisbon," Jane began, closing his door after climbing into the car and starting it, "you don't believe that you know me better than anyone else who's alive?"

"Absolutely not."

"Care to explain why not?"

"Not particularly, but fine," Lisbon pulled the seat belt over her chest and clicked it into place. Jane started the car and backed out of the parking space, navigating back to the deserted road. "I think there are people you know who know you better than I can even begin to imagine."

"Like who?" Jane smirked.

"Like the people from the circus, who knew you when you were growing up. Like Sophie Miller, who knew you during one of your darkest times. And I'm sure you have friends outside of the CBI."

"Oh, but I don't, Lisbon. And those people only know the sides of me that I let them see. Sophie- I mean, Dr. Miller- only saw the raw sadness and fury. She didn't know who I was before Red John killed my family, and she certainly doesn't know much about who I have become. The people I grew up with don't know much about who I am now, just who I was when I was younger. Anyone else?"

"I- No, but- there has to be _someone_ other than me, Jane. There has to be," Lisbon looked out the window, watching the lights as they sped by.

"There's no one other than you, Lisbon," there was a deeper meaning to what he said, but he doubted she'd detect it.

"If you say so." They rode in silence the rest of the way to his house.

…

**Author's Note:** I'm going to keep this going, but not sure for how long yet. Another chapter for sure, maybe 2 or 3. It all depends on the reviews. So, REVIEW! Please and thank you!

Also, sorry to those that I told that this chapter would have a lot of fluff, I got side tracked. Next chapter though, I promise!


	3. Paint War

**Author's Note:** Thank you to **xXxStarGazerxXx, MissDonnie, Nikki, Leah, Little-Firestar84, Your-Bespoke-Psychopath, Aania71, Guest, louisethelibrarian, **and for reviewing chapter 2 and thank you to all of you who added this story to alert/favorite. Your support means so much to me, I can't even begin to describe how happy it makes me that you all like my writing. :D

As promised, FLUFF! Sorry if anything is OOC, it's somewhat… _difficult_ for me to figure out exactly what they would say. I'm trying. It may be a bit dark, but there's light fluff to come, I promise!

Lisbon's POV. Enjoy!

…

When they finally pulled into his driveway, Jane seemed tense. Lisbon was worried. Was he rethinking his decision to paint the room already? She had to admit, she would be disappointed. She had actually let herself enjoy spending one-on-one time with Jane outside of work. He hadn't pulled any Jane-like stunt, which was a shock. It was nice, though, this side of him. The normal one.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Jane?" she just needed to clarify one more time. It would put her mind at ease and she would no doubt feel less guilty.

"Absolutely," he answered, opening his door and stepping out into the night. She followed him around to the back of his car.

"Alright. I'll take the paint." He lifted the handles of the bag and passed it to her. "If I recall correctly, didn't you tell me that you already had paint?"

"Did I?" He closed the trunk, holding both of his bags in on hand, and digging his keys out of his pocket again. "I must have misspoken."

"You specifically told me, and I quote, 'I already have the paint, I just can't do it alone,'" she teased him.

"I said what I needed to say to get you to help," he said matter-of-factly. She rolled her eyes and followed him to his front door. He unlocked it and stepped inside, flicking a switch. The area in front of them was suddenly bathed in a yellow-tinted light. Lisbon blinked at the sudden brightness. When she opened her eyes, Jane was gone.

"Jane?" she called. She didn't like being alone in his house, even if he was just in another room. Lisbon had only been to his house a handful of times, so she didn't exactly know her way around.

"In here," his voice came from somewhere to her left, so she walked through the doorway there. Around the corner, she saw more light. It was the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" Lisbon was somewhat confused. "I thought we were just going to paint."

"I'm making tea," Jane said quietly. "Would you like some?" His voice was a bit too even, so she knew something was up. She didn't know if she should try to talk about it or not, so she pretended not to notice. That this would be hard for him, she knew. How hard, though?

"Sure," she said, just as quietly. She took a moment to look around his almost empty kitchen. Come to think of it, his entire house seemed deserted. What Lisbon had seen of it so far, anyway. _No wonder he spends so much time at the CBI,_ she mused. "Is your entire house as empty as this?"

"Yep. I sold almost everything after Angela…" Jane trailed off, turning away from her. Lisbon felt her heart break a little more for him.

"I'm sorry, Jane," she told him. "I didn't think about that."

"It's fine, Lisbon. Besides, he's finally gone. Remember?" He faced her and smiled, but it still seemed sad, somehow.

"Of course, how could I forget? I did almost die, you know." Something flashed in his eyes and he stopped what he was doing.

"I do know. I'll always know. It kills me that I know, but it happened. But, oh what I wouldn't give to change that. To have caught him before he got to you. To have been the one to fire the shot that killed him. I can't stand that I was almost too late, that I almost lost you. You don't have to say anything right now, but I need to say this. If you had died, it would have killed me. I lost my wife, my daughter, I couldn't- _can't_ lose you, too."

Lisbon stayed quiet for a moment, and they stared at each other. She took a deep, shaky breath, and he resumed his tea-making process.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice coming out shakier than she would've liked, but she had to continue. "For everything. For believing him when he told me he had you when he didn't. For trying to take him from you. For not being strong enough to fight him. For scaring you, for nearly dying, for _everything_. I wish I could fix it, I really do. I wish I could bring him back, even if it was just for you to be the one to kill him. I know that's all you wanted. I _know_ that I told you I wouldn't allow it, but… Things change. And I'm sorry. If I could change it, I would. In a heartbeat." There. She had said it and she couldn't take it back. She braced herself for his reaction.

"_Not strong enough?_ Lisbon, you are one of the toughest, strongest people I've ever known. Don't tell me you're 'not strong enough.' You are. I don't _want_ him to come back, Lisbon. I wouldn't change any of it, other than him having you and you nearly dying. But I can't change any of it either. We both know that. It's time to move on. That's why I asked you to help me with this. It wasn't just that I couldn't do it alone. I needed to do it with you. Not Cho, not Rigsby, not even Grace. It had to be you." He smiled at her again, handing her a now finished cup of tea. He must have been working on it while he was speaking, because she had allowed herself to get lost in his words.

"Thank you," she accepted the cup and took a sip of the warm, familiar liquid before continuing. "But why me? Grace knew what it was like to have been manipulated by Red John; she needed the revenge and relief just as much as you. She killed her own fiancé for God's sake. Why does it have to be me? Not that I'm complaining. I must admit, I'm enjoying this a bit more than I should, spending one-on-one time with you, Jane." That earned her a genuine smile from him.

"Oh, my dear Lisbon," he shook his head. "Don't you see?" She cocked her head slightly to the side. After a moment of dead silence, he continued. "We should probably start painting. I could talk like this for hours, and that could get dangerous."

With that, he took his tea and the bags and walked towards the staircase. She quickly switched the tea to her left hand, grabbed the paint with her right, and followed him upstairs.

He hesitated outside the closed door, taking a deep breath. Setting the bags down, he twisted the knob and stepped inside. There was a streetlamp outside the window that provided just enough light for her to make out the dripping red Smiley on the wall directly across from them. She fought back a shudder, remembering them man who had put it there, along with so many others. She had been so close to becoming another victim. Thank God Jane got there when he did. Van Pelt, too.

"Help me with the mattress?" Jane asked. She nodded, removing the plastic bags from the paint and setting it on the floor just outside the room. She took another sip from her teacup before placing it on top of the can. He did the same with his tea, putting his bags on the opposite side of the doorway.

Together, they lifted the mattress and carried it out of the room, down the hall. Jane grunted, telling her to stop. They set it up against the wall before the stairs, the sheets hanging toward the floor. Jane headed back to the room, retrieving a pillow. He set it next to the mattress and turned back toward the now completely empty room.

"Last chance to go home," Jane told her. "You could sleep. You do need more of that, you know. You're getting bags under your eyes."

Lisbon laughed at that. He was one to talk; he probably hadn't slept in months. Then again, she hadn't had a full night's rest in weeks.

"I'm fine, Jane, really."

"As long as you're sure. Well… I'll put the tarp out, I guess." She nodded and got the rest of the materials out of the bags. Once empty, she balled them up, shoved them inside the ones that had held the paint, and hung them on the doorknob.

Jane had already ripped the packaging apart, tossed it aside, and unfolded the tarp. He lifted the end he was holding into the air and pulled it down forcefully. He repeated the gesture until the tarp was flat enough to be set down and spread out by hand.

"Tape?" Lisbon dug through the materials until she found the familiar blue ring. She handed it to him without saying a word. Jane taped the tarp to the wall in several places before standing. He stood back and admired his work. Apparently, it was good enough because he moved to the window, taping the edges to prevent getting paint on the frame. He did the same with the closet door and the main door.

Finally, it was time to paint. Lisbon removed their cups from the paint and walked over to the window. She set them on the windowsill for the time being.

She heard a pop behind her and found that Jane had opened the paint. He seemed to have produced a flat head screwdriver out of this air.

"Toolbox in the closet," he said without looking up. She nodded, though he didn't see. She idly wondered if he would remain this distant and silent the whole time, or just until they actually started painting.

"Are you ready to do this?" Lisbon asked. He nodded and opened the package with the paint rollers. He handed her one, along with the extension piece. He set his next to him and poured the honey-colored paint into the tray.

Now it was the moment of truth. Jane lifted the tray carefully, carrying it closer to the smiley. He returned for his roller, making sure it was secure to the handle before dipping it into the thick, yellow liquid. Lisbon watched as he cautiously set the roller on the wall, slightly above his head. It made a squishy sound as he slowly pulled it downward, covering the brownish-red stain on the wall. She released a breath that she didn't know she was holding when he removed it from the wall. He tried to hide it, but his eyes were slightly puffy. He was holding back his tears.

But he wouldn't cry, she knew that. He wouldn't cry unless he was absolutely, completely alone. She knew that, and she knew nothing she said or did would change that. Maybe he wouldn't mourn tonight, or tomorrow, but he would. The floodgates would open, and he would finally be able to heal.

He would move on. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Who would he choose to let in? It could be anyone.

"Patrick…" she dipped her roller (without the extension attached) into the paint and brought it up to the wall, striping the area with yellow. It was a happier color, she had to admit. She paused when she realized that Jane was staring at her.

"Why did you come?" he asked. His tone wasn't rude, it was merely curious. He cleared his throat and continued. "When I asked you to help me with this, I was sure you'd refuse. Why didn't you?"

"You needed a friend," she said. "I'm always going to be here for you, Patrick, you have to know that." He closed his eyes and nodded.

"Of course."

Lisbon continued painting the wall in silence. Jane sank to the ground and stared at the wall. After a moment, he recoated his roller and worked on the lower portion of the wall.

They were quiet until there was no sign of the Smiley left. When they were satisfied with their job, Lisbon offered him her hand and helped him up. They stood back and admired the yellows shape on the wall. After a tense moment, Jane laughed.

It wasn't a laugh of amusement, or insanity. It was the kind of laugh that you'd hear from a man who never thought he'd laugh again. Lisbon felt as though she was witnessing a blind man seeing the world for the first time. It was breathtaking.

He turned to her and smiled largely. He was grinning in earnest.

"We got him, Lisbon," Jane sounded as though he finally believed it. "We really got him." It was her turn to grin at him. She hadn't seen him this happy since, well, ever.

"We did." He continued painting, and stayed quiet for a few minutes. This time their silence wasn't tense or sad. It was comfortable.

"I think we need more paint," Lisbon informed him after a little while. The tray was nearly empty, a large dandelion colored stain was drying, a splattered design higher up.

"I'll pour some more," Jane retrieved the bucket and tilted it so that the paint dribbled into the tray, splashing a bit over the edge, onto the tarp. "Oops."

"Much better," Lisbon thanked him before readjusting the tray. She got a bit of the fresh paint of her hand and she attempted to wipe it off on her jeans before realizing that she was dressed in what she would wear to work. "Crap."

"What's wrong?" Jane stopped his work, a drop of paint trailing down the wall. He soaked it up with the roller before it could get to the floor.

"These are my work clothes," She told him. The yellow stain was prominent on her dark blue jeans. Very noticeable.

"Oh, right," he said. "We could stop back at your place when we're finished, if you'd like." She smiled gratefully at him. Now she didn't have to worry as much about her clothes getting ruined.

"Thanks," she said, wiping her hands up and down her legs, trying to get the paint off. It was already drying.

"I think we're doing a lovely job, don't you?" He asked. They were nearly done with the ex-Red John wall. It had only been about 30 minutes.

"I do," she brushed her hair out of her face and moved higher up on the wall. "At this rate we'll be done with plenty of time to spare." She stepped back to examine their work and decided to move on to the next wall. Jane could get the top part.

"Lisbon?" his voice came from right behind her. She hesitantly turned around to find him standing inches away from her, a mischievous smile on his face. He stepped closer, and-

There was something cold on her neck.

"_Jane!_" She yelped, jumping away from him. "Did you just _paint_ my _neck_?!" Her hand shot up to check. When she removed it, there was indeed honey colored paint on the tips of her fingers. She glared at him. "You shouldn't have done that," she informed him, stepping forward so that he was forced to back away. She continued moving closer until he was pressed against a blank wall. She grinned evilly at him and pressed the roller against his chest, leaving a large stain.

"Oh, really?" He stepped around her, and bent down to scoop paint out of the tray with his hand and tried to toss it at her. It splashed across her chest and dripped down onto her jeans. It also stained his hand. She gaped down at her newly ruined clothes, stunned. When she looked up, he was hunched over the tray. She tried to get away, but it was too late.

She shrieked uncharacteristically and used her roller as a shield when he came at her with the brush. He managed to get her cheek, left arm, and stomach before she was able to fight back. Lisbon rolled paint up his right arm, drenching it. She also had time to get in one good shot before he could retaliate: she used the roller on his hair.

He was still and silent for a moment before he burst out laughing. Lisbon joined him, laughing so hard that she dropped her roller and fell to her knees, clutching her stomach.

"You look- _ridiculous_!" She said between waves of laughter.

"So do you!" He was literally rolling on the floor.

After a while, their laughter died down and Jane sat up, brushing his dripping hair out of his face.

"We should probably keep working," he said, chuckling. She nodded and located her tool.

"Jane?" she called softly. He turned to look at her, still smiling. "Thank you." He grinned.

"My pleasure."

…

Finally, they ran out of paint. They were almost done, too. There was just one wall left to paint, but just before they could start, Jane went to recoat his roller, but found the tray empty again. He tried to refill it, but the can was empty too.

"Well, I guess we're done for the night then," he told Lisbon. She faced him, confused. "Out of paint," he elaborated. She nodded, stepping closer.

"Well, that was…" she trailed off.

"Fun?" he suggested.

"I was going to say 'interesting,' but fun works too," she teased.

"Please." He rolled his eyes and set his roller in the tray, taking hers and setting it there as well. "You had fun and you know it."

"You're right," she confessed, moving to the window. It was getting lighter outside. She looked down and saw their abandoned teacups. "Whoops. I can make more, if you'd like," Lisbon lifted the cups to show him what she meant.

"It's fine," he said. He walked up to her and took the cups, setting them back on the windowsill.

"Are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure I could figure out where everything is rather easily…" she trailed off again. This time it was because he was staring at her so intently that her heart started fluttering in her chest.

"Teresa," he nearly whispered, "there's something I want to do, but I really don't think I could do it in _this_ room."

"Okay," she actually did whisper. He backed away, not breaking eye contact until he was at the door. That was when he turned around and walked down the hall.

She remained still for a moment, until curiosity got the best of her and she followed him. She went downstairs, looking for him. The light was still on in the kitchen, which was promising enough. She walked through the doorway and found him leaning against the counter. When she walked in, he straightened up.

For a second, they were silent. Her heart pounded so hard, she would have sworn he could hear it. That second felt like a lifetime. Finally, she spoke.

"What was it?" she asked. "That you couldn't do in that room," she clarified. He smirked, and it was such a Jane expression, that her stomach did flips. He stepped closer.

"I don't think you want to know," he challenged. She raised an eyebrow, brushing her hair out of her face.

"You have paint," he told her quietly, "on your cheek." He reached up and brushed the spot that he had splattered with paint. Lisbon's eyes fluttered shut. How on Earth did he suddenly have this effect on her?

"Well, you're the one who put it there," she told him, her breathing turning uneven. God, he was so close.

"I know," she could hear the grin in his voice. He cupped her face and leaned closer, stopping when his face was inches from hers. "Lisbon." She opened her eyes to find him closer than she expected. "Do you really want to know what I couldn't do?"

She had lost the ability to speak, so she merely nodded. He grinned for what seemed like the millionth time that night.

There was nothing more to say, so he closed the distance between them, her eyes fluttering shut again.

He was kissing her, finally. Her arms found their way around his neck without her consent, but she was beyond caring. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair, the part that wasn't crisp with dry paint.

She moaned softly against his lips when his arms encircled her waist.

Now she understood.

She pulled herself tighter against him, breaking the kiss to breathe. He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing just as hard as she was.

She laughed.

"What's so funny?" He asked without opening his eyes.

"Nothing," she told him. "Everything, I don't know. You have paint in your hair."

"Well, you're the one who put it there," he quoted her, grinning wider than before. She pressed her lips back to his, this kiss shorter than the last one.

"You know, if we keep this up, we'll be late for work," she informed him. "I won't be able to change." Now he laughed and kissed her again anyway.

"Jane," she murmured into the kiss. "Jane, I really need to change."

"Mmm," he hugged her tighter against his chest.

"You do, too," she almost didn't care anymore, but Professional Lisbon wouldn't let her go to work covered in paint. She broke the kiss. "Patrick. I'm serious."

He sighed and disentangled himself. "You're right, I suppose. I'd say 'alright, well you change and I'll go shower' but you don't have spare clothes here…"

"Bring your clean clothes, you can shower at my place," the words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. Oh, well, if it got her to work in time, then so be it.

"Okay," he kissed her briefly once more before hurrying to his bedroom. She felt light headed and used the counter for support.

Patrick Jane had kissed her. Repeatedly. And… She had kissed him back.

Her mind was going a million miles an hour, trying to process it. How would this effect their work life? Does this mean he won't be s reckless?

_Of course, he's Jane,_ she reminded herself. _He's always going to be a pain in my a-_

"Ready when you are," he walked through the doorway, a new set of clothes under his unpainted arm. If he looked that paint-damage, she could only imagine how horrible she looked.

He seemed to read her thoughts, because he commented.

"Paint is a good look for you, Lisbon," he chuckled. "You should wear it more often."

"You wish," she rolled her eyes. He smirked again and walked toward the front door.

"Coming, Lisbon?"

She huffed and followed him out to his car. Today was going to be… interesting.

…

**Author's Note:** I considered ending it here, but I think I still have a few chapters in me. What do you think? How was the fluff? :)

_REVIEW,_ please!


	4. The End?

**Author's Note:** You guys… words cannot describe how sorry I am for the lack of updates. Life has been hectic, my apologies for the lame excuse.

I think I'm going to end the story here. Don't hate me, those of you that are left! I'd be surprised if anyone was reading this. "Oh, poohey, just an Author's Note, she's lame…" Yeah, I know. I'm sorry!

However: I'm considering writing a sequel. What do you think of that idea? If you want me to do a sequel, I need IDEAS. Give me inspiration in a review and I'll love you forever. I'll give you a shout-out in the Summary of the sequel and everything! :)

A last Thank You to **Lothlorien Aeterna,** **xXxStarGazerxXx,** **Kourion** **fangirllife,** **Guest,** **Little-Firestar84,** **ComposingWithLanguage,** **louisethelibrarian,** ** ,** **All The Best People Are Mad,** **lollierocks, **and** thetyger **for reviewing Chapter 3.

Huge hugs to everyone who stuck with the story from Day 1 and even to those of you who read it without reviewing or alerting or anything like that. It still means a lot to me that you even clicked on it.

To those of you who added me as a Favorite Author or Author Alert: I LOVE YOU! I mean, I can't even… AHH. You guys. I want to be an author one day, so that was huge. Seriously, thank you so much. You have no idea how happy that made me. I was floating on a cloud for weeks. :D

I feel like I should still type a little bit of the story, just to tie up some loose ends or something like that. Just because you are all so great. :)

So… Enjoy!

Jane's POV

…

She let him drive. Again.

_Twice in one night,_ he mused. _New record._

He glanced over at Lisbon and found that she was resting her head on the window, her eyes shut. A new wave of guilt washed over him. He really should have let her sleep.

He almost apologized again, but he felt like that may have been overkill. Why was he suddenly so possessed with the need to apologize for every little thing he did to her? That had never happened before. Hell, he went to jail for killing a man and barely said a word about it to her, other than "It wasn't Red John."

No, he knew why. He had a feeling she knew, too, but probably wouldn't admit it. Not for a while, at least.

He didn't want to hurt her. Ever. Not now, not after what had happened literally minutes ago.

Jane grinned, remembering the feeling of his lips pressed against hers… He wanted to do it again. Soon.

"Why are you so happy?" Lisbon asked. Jane glanced at her and saw that she was no longer dozing against the window. While she wasn't wide awake, she wasn't a zombie either.

"No reason," his grin widened. She rolled her eyes at him but smiled, too.

…

When they arrived back at Lisbon's house, he was almost disappointed. He'd been enjoying her company. Then he remembered that this wasn't goodbye, he was showering here. He hopped out of his car, grabbed his spare clothes, and hurried to the passenger side to help Lisbon up.

Jane offered her his hand, which she gladly accepted. Under different circumstances, Lisbon would never have been caught dead holding his hand, even if he was just helping her up. Now, though…

She didn't know what to think, judging by her expression.

Jane couldn't resist. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. After several seconds, Lisbon pulled away.

"Sorry," Jane told her, though he wasn't. "I wanted to do that the whole way here."

Lisbon rolled her eyes again, fighting back a smile. She disentangled herself from his arms and dug her keys out of her pocket. She led him into her house, pointing him in the direction of the shower.

"Thank you, dear," he said, pecking her on the cheek before quickly leaving the room.

…

Lisbon's POV

…

She didn't know what to think anymore, let alone what to feel.

Jane had kissed her. Several times. Good God, if someone had told her earlier that night that she'd end up basically making out with Jane, she'd have punched them.

Yet it seemed completely normal now that it had happened.

What was happening to her? Kissing Jane was _normal_ now? She really needed a nap.

Jane was showering in the spare bathroom, which gave her time to think. Digging through her closet she chose a new outfit: her usual black slacks, blouse, and jacket. With a slight blush, she pulled out a pair of loafers to match. Jane had once commented on them, calling them "Lisbon Loafers". Her heart skipped a beat.

_What is _wrong _with me tonight?_ She cursed herself inwardly.

Pushing the blonde consultant out of her mind, she walked into her bathroom and closed the door behind her.

…

Jane's POV

…

When he stepped out of the shower, the bathroom was foggy. He didn't realize that the water had been so hot. He hoped he hadn't used it all, Lisbon was going to shower, too.

He quickly pulled on his change of clean clothes, careful of his wet hair. Once everything was covered, he bent down and towel-dried his hair.

He wondered what he should do about Lisbon. Should he ask her on a proper date? Was PDA at work allowed?

_Of course not!_ He chided himself. _This is _Lisbon_ we're talking about. I'm lucky I got to kiss her at all._

Why was he overthinking this, anyway? He'd had no problems with Angela. She and Lisbon were two completely different people, though. Angela had been quiet, sweet, and perfect, while Lisbon was fierce, opinionated, and, well, perfect.

Sighing, he opened the door.

This would take time. He vowed to himself that one day, somehow, Lisbon would be his.

…

**Author's Note:** Again, thank you all for reading this, I hope you enjoyed the story!

If you want a sequel, please review! :) Ideas are welcome, don't be shy!


	5. Sequel Notice

**IMPORTANT**

Sorry if you thought this was an update… I'm just informing those of you who don't already know that I posted a sequel. It's called "Letting the Paint Dry". I hope you like it, and as always… Please review it! :)

I adore you all, I can't tell you how much it meant to me that you read my work and ENJOYED it.


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